


Out, Damn'd Spot

by Bexless



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), American Idol RPF
Genre: Curtain Fic, Future Fic, M/M, Podfic Available
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-30
Updated: 2011-07-30
Packaged: 2017-10-21 23:40:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/231169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bexless/pseuds/Bexless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Kris ruined Adam's shoes, he very seriously considered leaving the country.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out, Damn'd Spot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CJ (cjmarlowe)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cjmarlowe/gifts).



> I wrote this to cheer up CJ Marlowe :)
> 
> Podfiic (read by a dude!) by 4nu815 [here](http://amplificathon.livejournal.com/389297.html).

When Kris ruined Adam's shoes, he very seriously considered leaving the country.

If he wasn't in America, he reasoned, Adam couldn't dump him. Adam didn't believe in dumping people over the phone. He would want to do it face to face, and as long as Kris refused to see him in person, their relationship would just have to go on indefinitely, which was what Kris was shooting for anyway.

He looked down at the shoes, hoping that maybe it wasn't as bad as he thought – but it was. Kris' coffee, so safely contained within his mug until ten seconds ago, was now splashed like some horrifying caffeine-only murder scene all over Adam's best new pair of ankle boots, which were silvery-colored and buttery-soft and made out of the skin of magical unicorn babies who had elected to give their lives in order to be part of the boots in the first place, or something, and Adam had bought them in Italy and modelled them for Kris for like, a full hour when he came back, and Kris knew he wasn't supposed to bring liquids anywhere near the dressing room but Adam wasn't home and Kris just wanted to grab the sweater that he only wore when Adam wasn't there to behave as though the sight of it was denying him his human rights, and now...

Now there was coffee all over Adam's unicorn boots. Screw the phone – Adam would probably dump him by _fax_.

When something was dirty, Kris' first instinct was to put it under the faucet and rub soap on it. You couldn't do that with suede, though – it wasn't _that_ long since Kris sold shoes for a living (and even less long since the last time Adam talked him into reliving those days as part of a role play) which Kris was pretty sure meant you couldn't do it with unicorn, either, so instead he followed his second instinct, which was to call his mother.

"Oh _no_ ," she said, when he told her what had happened. "When is he going to be home?"

"In like twenty minutes," said Kris, glancing at the clock. "What do I do?"

"Let me look in my stain book," she said, and bustled off.

Kris followed all of her instructions, but none of it worked. The boots remained stubbornly coffee-colored, and Adam was going to be home any minute. "Mom!" said Kris, in a panic.

"Well honey, you said you didn't want to risk this, but really the only other thing you can try is to hold them over the tea kettle and wait for the steam to lift the nap," she said. "Then brush it out."

"Fine, okay," said Kris. "Mom, I need two hands for that, I'll call you back."

"Okay honey, but be careful of-" but Kris didn't hear what else she said, because he was too busy dropping the phone and racing over to fill the kettle up.

He hopped around impatiently waiting for it to boil, then grabbed the brush in one hand and a boot in the other and held the toe over the steam.

He couldn't tell if it was working at all: he brushed gingerly at the very point of the toe, but it didn't seem to be doing anything. He put the boot back in the steam again, then leaned in closer to get a better look, and then all of a sudden the steam was really hot and wreathing his hand and seriously _burning in his eyes arrgh_ so he stepped back and flailed, and somehow caught the kettle with the boot, which he then dropped, but not before it toppled the kettle and sent a tide of boiling water flooding towards him over the countertop and onto the floor.

Kris said, "Aaahh!" and stepped back, arching his body to keep his really wet and really hot shirt away from his skin, and then he slipped on the boot he'd dropped and his feet went out from under him, and he would have been flat on his back in a scalding puddle if Adam hadn't chosen that moment to race through the door and yank Kris upright by his belt.

"Oh my God!" he said, and crushed Kris to his chest in a hug before thrusting him out to arm's length again. "Are you okay? Your face is all red!"

"I got steam in it," said Kris, and held up his sore hand too.

"Oh my God," said Adam again, and herded Kris over to the sink, where he ran cold water over Kris' hand and wet a paper towel and wiped Kris' face with it, and then kissed him so gently that Kris felt like he was going to throw up with guilt.

"I ruined your shoes," he said against Adam's mouth. "Adam, I was trying to clean them – I'm _really_ sorry."

"I don't care about shoes," Adam said, rolling his eyes. "You were about to brain yourself on the counter when I got here. And you're all burned! Who cares about fucking shoes?"

"When those black ones with the lightning thingies on them were stolen you made me leave you alone to _mourn_ ," Kris reminded him. "For a whole afternoon!"

"Oh yeah," said Adam. "Well, those were really special shoes."

"So were these," Kris tried to say, but Adam was kissing him again so it came out as a pleased murmur instead. He was just getting into it and wrapping his arms around Adam's neck when Adam pulled back and said,

" _Which_ shoes?"

Kris' heart sank even further. He closed his eyes, swallowed, and said in a tiny voice, "Your new ones." Then, because that didn't really narrow it down, he added, "Your boots. From Italy."

There was a silence. When Kris dared to open his eyes, Adam had gone very still. His hands were clamped around Kris' upper arms. It was kind of starting to hurt. Adam's mouth opened and worked silently for a second, then he said, "Is that what's on the floor behind you?"

"Adam, it's really best if you don't look," Kris started, but Adam had already shoved him out of the way and was lurching towards his ruined boots, making a wounded groaning noise and sinking down onto his knees on the floor. Kris hurried after him. "Adam, I'm so sorry."

Adam put his hands out, but then snatched them back at the last minute, like he couldn't even bear to touch them now. He put his hands over his face instead. "These are one of a kind," he said into them, and although his voice was muffled Kris could still hear that Adam's distress level was right around nuclear. "They're _bespoke_."

Kris didn't know what that meant, but evidently it was a good thing. Or a bad thing, if the bespokes in question were lying on the floor covered in coffee and hot water.

For a long time, Adam stayed on his knees, silent. Kris stood next to him. After a while he put his hand on Adam's shoulder and squeezed. "Adam?"

Adam made an inarticulate noise of grief.

Kris squeezed his shoulder again. "Do you want me to leave you alone to mourn?"

Adam's shoulders hitched twice before he choked out, "Yes please."

Kris leaned down to kiss the back of his neck quickly, before dragging his guilty ass upstairs to call his mom back and tell her to expect him back home the next day because no way Adam wasn't going to throw him out.

She just laughed and said, "When your father and I were first married, I left his favourite record on the radiator while I was cleaning up, and it melted. He found his way to forgiveness and Adam will too."

"I hope so," Kris said glumly, and then he said goodbye and hung up and went to find his guitar and play every song he knew about being a terrible person who deserved to be dropped on their head.

Much, much later, Adam came to find him and ask if he was ready for bed. He still looked miserable, but he let Kris kiss him, and when Kris proposed they play Shoe Salesman he perked up considerably.

The next day, Kris found a little poster on the dressing room door. It said 'NO LIQUIDS!!! KRIS THIS MEANS YOU' over a picture of Adam's poor boots, and then underneath were the words 'NEVER FORGET' in red ink, underlined three times.

Kris never did find out what Adam had done with the boots. The next time Kris was in Italy he called Brad (because Brad had an insane encyclopaedic memory of everyone's clothes ever) and found out where Adam had got the boots from, and brought him (and Brad) home a pair as close to the originals as he could remember. Adam loved them and declared that they were even better than the first pair, and that it was worth Kris' coffee incident just to get the new ones.

He stored them on a very high shelf, which they both agreed was best for all involved.


End file.
